We’ll Never Forget These 10 Automotive Adventures

There are a lot of ways to say “I love cars,” and we think the best way is by doing something with them. A road trip with your own vehicle is probably the activity that first crosses your mind, and for good reason. Road trips are a theater for mechanical mishaps and roadside ingenuity, for unexpected community, grand destinations, and the parallel mental journey.

That said, automotive adventures can be anything—for a car-obsessed writer, it might be getting the chance to write a story you’ve wanted to tell for years, or witnessing a history-making moment. For a racer, it could be a best lap or a particular season where you proved to yourself that yes, you can do this. For a mechanic or engineer, it could be solving a problem that no one else could—or, again, proving that yes, you can fix it.

From road trips to trackside moments, here are 10 experiences that will live forever in our memories.

Vee for … Very Nearly Avoiding Katrina?

In 2005 my dad bought a Formula Vee, and our plan was to drive our Suburban and trailer from Houston to Jacksonville, pick the car up, and drive back. Easy. Except in between wiring the money and leaving on the trip, Hurricane Katrina smacked into Louisiana.

We adjusted our route a bit north to avoid all the issues from the storm, but apparently not far enough. We wound up getting stuck in the middle of Mississippi with no gas, no hotels, no showers, nothing to do, and a needle sinking past “E.” Finally, after almost two days, one gas truck pulled into a Shell station. We rushed to get into the huge line of other cars running on fumes, including a clapped-out Tercel in front of us that we helped push every time the line moved, and eventually the guy directing everybody—I think he was a U.S. Marshal—let us fill up our tank (some were only allowed half a tank) and be on our way.

The seller of the car in Florida had some mysterious government job where it was hard to reach him, but we did make it to Jacksonville, loaded up the Vee, showered, and turned around. In the moment, the whole thing sucked, and what was supposed to be a long two-day trip wound up taking about five. But it was some of the best father/son bonding we ever had, and we got a race car out of it. — Andrew Newton

Kyle Recalls That Van

Waking up under my 1961 Chevrolet Greenbrier, with the gas tank precariously held in by three threads on a single one of the straps that hold it up above the front suspension. That beautiful moment that follows waking up put a golden haze over what was actually a pretty crummy situation. The van wouldn’t pull fuel to the carbs and I had 1000 miles to get home. I’d been up for days and was only marginally closer to ready to leave on the drive, and had fallen asleep while conducting the repair.

If I could have only known that buying that van, traveling to drive it home, and all the adventures that would stem from it would later be viewed as one of the exit ramps that put me on the path to live my life doing similar adventures. It wasn’t the craziest or riskiest thing I’ve done, but it was the first time I put my skills to the test and proved to myself I was more capable than I thought.

It was all downhill from there. — Kyle Smith

Eddy’s First SCCA Win

Nothing will ever beat spending a week at Indy with some of my closest friends, all of us competing at the SCCA Runoffs in 2021. But I’ve written about that (here), so instead, I’ll go with winning my first SCCA race back in 2014—I count it as an adventure because it took a lot longer than the time between the green flag and the checkers.

I’d never been so meticulously determined. The car got a fresh engine, a good tune, and I made sure everything else was in top form. Along with my buddy, Mark Bennett, who was one of the best Spec Miata drivers of the time (and ever, really), I spent hours poring over data comparing his laps in my car at Mid-Ohio with my own to get everything I could out of the car. This was as ready as I’d ever be for just about anything.

A second-place finish on Saturday only made me more eager. The following day, exiting the keyhole on the first lap of the race, the leader spun his RX-7 and I threaded the needle to get up to first. I’m better off having a rabbit in front of me than I am driving in my mirrors, but I managed to lead the whole race. Most of central Ohio could hear my joyful shouts when I crossed the line first. — Eddy Eckart

Berg Survives Bolivia’s Death Road

It was the world’s most dangerous road: A rutted track that linked Bolivia’s biggest city La Paz to Coroico deep in the rainforest of the Yungas. Overloaded trucks piloted by overworked coca-leaf-chewing drivers and microbuses packed with travelers far beyond their stated capacity battled for position among the daily rockslides and precipitous drops.

In amongst them was me, fighting altitude sickness on the narrow mountain path in a prototype Range Rover Sport for a magazine story.

Death was never far. Almost every bend was marked with a memorial for those who had gone over the side, while machete-wielding cocaleros clashing with riot police on the road provided a potentially murderous moment.

Was it really my favorite automotive adventure? Possibly not, but it’s certainly the one I will never forget. — Nik Berg

Transportation and Architecture, Sajeev’s Parallel Passions

For me, that adventure was formulating a concept of comparing post–industrial era transportation and architecture, looking at what was both revolutionary and readily available, and drawing connections. As much as I love Piston Slap-ping and Vellum Venom-ing a car for a specific reason, I wanted to reach farther. I wanted to look at human creations and draw parallels between them.

Those parallels would rarely (if ever?) be considered for an automotive website. (Probably never even for architecture websites, but I haven’t checked.) The modernist city of Columbus, Indiana was a natural fit. Hyundai made a delightfully complex vehicle (Ioniq 5) that embodied traditional car design, digital technology, and classic modernist building design. I dreamed to pair the two. I wanted it pretty badly, if I was being honest.

I still can’t believe this comparison came to fruition, and that it got published, of all things. — Sajeev Mehta

Brandan Witnesses History at Bonneville

A question I’ve heard from readers on more than one occasion is “What’s the coolest thing you’ve gotten to do while writing about cars?” The askers probably expect an answer about driving something expensive, rare, or handbuilt, but I’m not good enough on the dragstrip or on the track to really get the most out of cars and get an elapsed time or lap time worth bragging about.

Instead, the most memorable experience I had was during Speed Week 2017 when I got to see Danny Thompson attempt a 400-mph record in the same nitro-burning, twin-engine streamliner that his father, Mickey, had campaigned in the 1960s. Don Prudhomme was on the starting line talking with Danny, who was trying to get advice from Prudhomme, but Snake had to admit that he’d never driven 400 mph, and couldn’t offer much help.

As a fan of some of hot-rodding’s greatest engineers, drivers, and entrepreneurs, I had thought that I might not get to witness such an incredible achievement, that all of those moments had already been lived. It’s still amazing that I got to stand on the salt the day Danny Thompson drove over the horizon and set the 406.8 mph record that his father had been chasing all those years ago. — Brandan Gillogly

Perusing Alaska, Petroelje-Style

I’ve been fortunate enough to undertake some pretty wild automotive adventures, but hands-down the one that sticks in my brain most is the trip I was able to take with my wife in the summer of 2022 from Fairbanks, Alaska, to Seattle, Washington.

We were returning a Ford Bronco and an Airstream to their respective manufacturers, and the pair was about as Americana as you can get. If words can capture the beauty of that land, I’ve yet to learn them.

Along the way, I made all sorts of silly misjudgments trying to manicure the experience for Meg, since I’d already taken this trip in reverse years prior. Frustration and guilt loomed large in my brain for portions of the trip. But as I’ve experienced many times before and since, Meg’s calming presence and appreciation for what’s directly in front of us helped battle back the negativity. I ended up with a mental rolodex of moments that I’ll cherish forever—spidered windshields, delays, and all. (Read the full story here! —Ed.)

The trip also reminded me of why I adore cars: They’re the willing steeds of journeys we create for ourselves, and the freedom they offer is irreplaceable in this great land. — Nate Petroelje

Grace Gets Caught by the Dragon

As Nate pointed out, this line of work hands you some incredible and otherwise impossible opportunities. In my five years at Hagerty, this gearhead has got a lot to be grateful for, including driving a press-fleet Cayman GT4 from a track test at NCM, where we put it head-to-head with a GT500, to Porsche’s headquarters in Atlanta.

What didn’t make it into the story was the monumental pressure I put on myself to Have an Experience. I learned my lesson afterward, as I was writing the article—experiences happen to you. You don’t engineer them.

I took the Porsche down the Tail of the Dragon, that destination road in the Great Smoky Mountains, because, somewhere in my overly analytical brain, that seemed like the thing to do. The Porsche’s tires were exhausted, and it was capable of far more than I could ask, even on a public road, but the hug of those bucket seats, the taut feel of the chassis, the road that scooped you up and flung you around, the throng of car people in their own rides, as the light turned gold … those I remember fondly.

Another moment I’ll never forget from that trip: As I pinched and zoomed through Google Maps, in my quest for Good Driving Roads, I discovered that some of curviest roads between Kentucky and Georgia are not paved—or, in one particularly embarrassing case, entirely above water. Reversing a bright-red Porsche—that didn’t belong to me—up a single-lane gravel road, nose-to-nose with some local’s pickup truck, away from a kiddie-pool-sized puddle of uncertain depth … I’ve never felt so sheepish. — Grace Houghton

Steven Cole Smith Sees the Salt

Years ago, when I was at a different publication, I asked my friend Mark, who was in charge of Pontiac public relations, if the company had ever taken a Bonneville to Bonneville. He didn’t answer, but I could see the wheels working. I forgot about it until he called nearly a year later and said, “Are you ready to go to Bonneville?” Yes. Yes, I was. He had taken a supercharged Bonneville to an aftermarket engine tuner, who had tweaked the 240-horse V-6 and added some aero bits and pieces. We boarded the plane in Detroit, but by the time we landed, the tuner had blown up the engine, beyond repair.

Oh, well. Let’s make the best of our first trip to the Bonneville Salt Flats. And we did. It was magic: Tents filled with Midwestern farmers tending to homebuilt speed buggies, each one happy to talk to you. Carefully, professionally engineered ground rockets that were a marvel to behold. Race cars with duct tape sealing the body’s seams for maximum aero. Tiny 50cc motorcycles. And the friendliest bunch of officials, who were just glad to have some new media attention. The glistening white salt was amazing to see, and dawn, when you can fire the engines, was unforgettable. It would have never been on my bucket list of 10 race tracks you must visit, but it has been since. — Steven Cole Smith

10-Year-Old Stefan, The Burn, and a Jeep

When I was a kid, we used to drive out West to camp for a month or so most summers. In 1986, we were up in the San Juan mountains of southeast Colorado and my mom accidentally backed our ’83 Plymouth Voyager (the full-sizer) into a tree. It had a single giant rear door, and the window in it shattered.

We drove back to Nucla, the tiny town where my great-uncle Bud lived, and the local mechanic there said he could fix it, but it would be a few days, so he gave us a Jeep CJ-5 as a loaner, free of charge. It was dark metallic brown with black steel wheels and knobby tires. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were.

Outside of Nucla was a giant high-desert plateau of juniper and pinion pines and sage brush that locals called The Burn, because there had been a fire there years before. One morning we got up early, took the doors and the top off, and headed up to explore—my older sister excluded, because she hated the idea of not having doors. We found arrowheads and pottery shards (which we left in place, to my 10-year-old dismay, but I get it now…) and we saw a small herd of wild horses, the concept of which still amazes me—that they are out there.

Clouds moved in, as they do on summer afternoons in Colorado, and it began to rain hard. We got soaked in the Jeep, and we slipped and slid our way back down off the plateau,  splashing through a small arroyo that had been dry on the way up. The Jeep was absolutely covered in mud, and I still remember the sound of it coming off the tires and slapping the wheel wells as we headed back to town. — Stefan Lombard